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by pheonixgate1



Series: Tales of Eorzea [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Artistic License, Grown!Rielle is Not Impressed, M/M, Men behaving badly - Freeform, Most of these tags are for Sidurgu, Multi, Post-Canon, Unkind Gods, Unrepentant Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheonixgate1/pseuds/pheonixgate1
Summary: It's hard being the only Au'Ra in Ishgard, but it's even harder being a couple of Ishgardians on the Steppes. Culture clash with real swords. And maybe some non-violence too, for flavor.





	1. Every journey begins with a...

**Author's Note:**

> This... is nothing but pure indulgence. A chance for our two favorite lizard-tanks to lock horns. You're welcome.

Sidurgu hated this.

 

One of his earliest memories is lying in his mother’s lap, her hands gentle but insistent as she tugged the old layer of scales away; soothing the new ones with oil. It had been painful and itchy but his father had made a show of falling asleep while he clumsily helped his mother do the same for his broad, luminous back. It is a treasured moment, kept separate from the memory of their deaths—and it was one of the last times his molt had been properly tended.

 

The Raen, whom he has paid a tidy sum, radiates uncertainty. He can barely feel their touch even as it snags on the years’ worth of broken and peeling scales he hasn’t been able to reach.

 

“Sir, this is.. I can’t…”

 

Once his master had done it for him. And later, Fray. But neither of them had really known what they were doing and while he’d trusted them with his life, it had always been painful and awkward and he’d found himself putting it off for as long as he could.

 

He sighs.

 

“It’s fine. Just do what you can. I don’t have a lot of time.”

 

 

The attendant hums in agreement and sets to work. He likely has less than an hour before Rielle comes looking. Normally she’d be the only one he’d even consider showing his back to, but these Raen were well… Not kin exactly but close enough—rank pacifists though they were. He had been too surprised to be amused when the poor sod they’d elected to serve as host and guide had confused Sidurgu’s natural churlishness as the onset of his molt and directed him to the nearest _Onsen_. Apparently they’d built an industry off of their own reptilian need, because _why not?_

 

And certainly the creeping itch and soreness wasn’t doing anything for his mood, but those doe-eyed fools had a thing coming if they thought he’d trade his killing edge for a few layers of skin.

 

Speaking of which, he doesn’t feel any pressure or tugging. And he certainly doesn’t want Rielle to suspect this is anything other than his usual perfunctory bath so he feels entirely justified when he tells the attendant to get to work.

 

“What are you doing? Get started already.”

 

 

The attendant huffs before explaining.

 

“I have to soak these before I can remove them. Otherwise half of your back will come off as well.”

 

 

Indeed he can now smell the oil she has no doubt doused the thick, crusted plates with. It is not the same as what he remembers and his nose wrinkles at the scent. Rielle will definitely notice that. Probably comment about his new perfume. Lovely.

 

 

“That’s fine. Just do it.”

 

“-Sir, that will injure you—"

 

 

Sidurgu has had just about enough of these holier-than-thou people who gave up fighting and called it Enlightenment. Give him an Ishgardian bigot who will at least draw steel to defend his dogma. These white-scaled ‘kinfolk’ make him ill.

 

“Do I seem like the type of person that cares whether something hurts or not? Do as your told and be quick about it!”

 

 

Finally he feels something but it’s still not what he’s expecting. He realizes the attendant is daubing the oil with a thick cloth and waits for the inevitable pain as she gets to it. Instead she leaves. And brings back a wrapped bundle. He recognizes it as the simple cloth robes used by the bath house.

 

“-Damn it, I thought I told you—"

 

 

She retreats a respectable distance, presumably for him to dress, but her voice is firm.

 

“I realize you are ignorant of our ways, but I must ask you to leave now.”

 

 

Grimacing as he sits up, he begins to protest because not only has he paid quite a bit of money but he really needs this. He is interrupted before he can start.

 

“-Your money will be refunded. I’m sorry. I can see your need is dire but no one here can do what you ask. Perhaps if you stayed with us a few days and allowed us to work for longer—”

 

 

Then he’d have to explain to Rielle why he is paying a stranger to do what she could have been doing all along if Sidurgu had only entrusted her with it.

 

“No. I’ll go.”

 

 

Bitterness sits at the back of his throat as he stiffly slips on the robe and follows the attendant back to his armor. Damn the girl anyway for wanting to come here. They could have gone to Limsa. To the beach. Where Rielle could have donned little scraps of cloth in a travesty of a swim suit and attracted enough unwanted attention that he’d have no choice but to slaughter the lot right there on the sand. A dip in the ocean to wash away the evidence and he’d be no different from any other traveler—aside from the sword. No muss, no fuss.

 

He dons his armor, acutely aware of how the now-moistened skin tugs as he moves.

 

Its no matter. He’s lived with it this long. Nothing for it now. Perhaps once he and Rielle are quit of this accursed place, he can broach the matter with her. Now that she is for the most part, an adult.

 

He spares the attendant a cursory glance as he leaves, gold-in-hand. She looks genuinely sorry for refusing him. Sidurgu could care less how genuine her sorrow is. The novelty of seeing so many faces both like, and unlike his own has worn off and his disappointment is now two-fold.

 

When he finds Rielle, he makes clear his intent to leave and doesn’t snarl at the obvious relief expressed by their guide, thought it’s a very near thing.

 

She sniffs at him curiously as she makes the standard niceties to the Raen, who can now go back to pretending their precious enlightened lives are somehow better than everyone else’s. Thankfully there’s no comment on his newly-acquired foreign stink. A small mercy that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Raen from the previous chapter are NOT from Sui-no-Sato. I am assuming those that live above ground share the same cultural mores and for convenience (read: cheap plot device) have put their origins in a much more tenable area for our two Ishgardian travelers. Yeah.

“It’s very… flat.”

 

Sidurgu doesn’t bother explaining to Rielle what a ‘steppe’ is. He certainly is no scholar on the matter and more importantly he doesn’t _care_. His concern lies in the wisdom of his parents; a warning, should he ever return to their ancestral lands.

 

_Go no further than Reunion._

 

Sage advice to be sure, however Sidurgu had never sought an explanation as to where that actually _was_. And while the land was littered with impressive landmarks, there was no telling which one of them was their destination.

 

And from the stories he heard in his youth of the tribes that roamed here, trial and error was out of the question.

 

“Well. This doesn’t look fun at all, does it? -I’m all for going back to Yanxia. We can scrape together enough money for a Falcon Porter or…whatever.”

 

Of course Rielle sees his uncharacteristic reluctance _exactly_ for what it is.

 

“How dangerous is it really, Sid? Because you’ll notice there’s no Porter here. And the last one we tried one will have warned the others by now. -You shouldn’t have threatened him just because he said you were too heavy.”

 

 

Sidurgu was not sorry about that. The Porter had assumed he was going to shuck armor on the spot just to ride his mangy, mite-ridden _fowl_. Sidurgu considered it a Public Service to disabuse him of that notion, even if Rielle had radiated disapproval for malms after. At least the swot would ask politely now.

 

“ _Or whatever_. And I’ve no idea how dangerous it is. Only how dangerous it _could be_. I grew up on stories of this place. Some of the tribes here would cut us down before they’d even talk to a couple of Outsiders.”

 

Rielle stared out over the open land, considering.

 

 

“People are people, Sid. Same as everywhere. You seemed alright with us coming here at first. Why is it a problem now?”

 

He sighed. He’d known this trip would eventually go pear-shaped, but the prospect of being around people who neither knew or cared who they were had been too enticing to ignore.

 

“My parents told me about a place. Reunion. It’s—There’s no fighting allowed there. It’s about as safe as it gets. The problem is, I don’t know where it is. From what I remember it’s supposed to be the first settlement you come to but,” He motioned over the blank expanse “-as you can see, there’s nothing here.”

 

A slow blink was his reply, then: “Oh. Is that all?”

 

He frowned. “What do you mean, _is that all_?!”

 

But he was ignored in favor of digging though their pack, which incidentally was attached to him at the moment. He grit his teeth as the jostling disturbed the mess on his back and bit back a yelp when Rielle’s rummaging managed to nearly topple him. Thankfully he was spared more torment as whatever she was looking for slid free.

 

It was a scroll. As she undid the bindings and rolled it open, it’s function became obvious.

 

 

“Is that-?”

 

 

“A map? Yes. I got it from the Raen. They practically begged me to take it when I told them where we were going.”

 

 

Sidurgu bit back a curse as she turned the scroll around a few times, trying to orient. Once there’d have been a lecture about keeping to themselves, but again he reminded himself that they were foreigners in a foreign land. There were no knights or clergy baying for their blood. All of that was behind them in Ishgard. There was only what was in front of them now.

 

“This is… not in Eorzean. -Can you read any of this?”

 

 

He peered over her shoulder. He’d been young when they’d fled Othard; his horns and tail barely grown. But his father had sat next to him during times of rest and read him stories of when the land was young. Of the Dusk Mother, N’haama, and her relentless suitor, the Dawn Father. Azim. Traced their names with reverence on the delicate paper that somehow always smelled like a river’s edge. He remembers those characters, if nothing else.

 

“This, is part of the name of the Dawn Father, Azim.” He traces the letters over a large, circular area in the center of the map. “And this,” He points to another, significantly smaller area some distance from the larger one, “-is part of the Dusk Mother’s name. N’haama.”

 

He frowns. “I don’t know what the rest of these are. Maybe those two are monuments of some kind?”

 

They both study the map again. That might be true for the smaller structure, but the larger one is _huge_. Mountain huge. So huge, in fact, that there’s no way they shouldn’t be able to see it—

 

“Oh. Do you suppose that’s one of them?”

 

 

A ways from the mouth of the cavern is a massive toppled bust, half buried in the sand. From this distance it takes a minute before the likeness becomes apparent but it is very obviously female. Judging by the elaborate adornments, a goddess.

 

 

If that’s the spot marked on the map with the name of the Dusk Mother then they at least know where they are. There are only three ways on or off the Steppe and only one that has what looks like a settlement near it.

 

It is unfortunately not the one they’re at.

 

 

“Sid! Look! Through the mists. -Do you see it?”

 

 

He peers through the morning haze, following Rielle’s slender hand. What at first looked like dense fog is actually a shape. As the sun’s warmth burns away the pall, he can see it. The monument of the Dusk Mother is barely a shadow in comparison to the colossal _bowl_ that rests in the approximate center of the Steppes. Fitting perhaps, that it and the land on which it rests share the name of the Dawn Father, Azim.

 

At the very top, he can see the gleam of an immense white structure. A castle. Or Garrison, more like. It’s highly defensible. Well-kept. In a central location. It could easily be a bustling trade hub. And any place of commerce where such querulous clans mix would have a need for neutrality.

 

The fact that the map gives it the name of the Dawn Father isn’t that much of a stretch. His parents called it ‘Reunion’ but perhaps it has a more official title. After all, they’d said it was the first settlement they came to, not necessarily the closest.

 

 

Rielle lowers her hand and blinks at him.

 

“What are you thinking, Sid?”

 

 

He takes the map from her and holds it up, matching the monument and the towering fortress to their places on the parchment.

 

“I’m thinking that looks like money, or whatever passes for it here. And where there’s money there’s trade.” He rolls up the map and hands it back to her. “And where there’s trade, there’s an agreed upon pause in killing each other. That makes sense, right?”

 

 

Rielle squints up at the structure.

 

“I guess so. How would they get anything up there I wonder?”

 

 

He waits as she rebinds the scroll and puts it back in their pack.

 

“I suppose we’ll have to get a bit closer to see, but this could be the place. We’ll just have to be careful, alright?”

 

 

Rielle nods in agreement and they step out of the darkness of the cavern and into the morning light.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea people would want to read this. I had a large portion of this chapter written already but all the reviews made me rush it just a little (I'm not a fast writer, obviously). If it's a little rough, that's why. YOU ONLY HAVE YOURSELVES TO BLAME. <3

They end up getting a very nice close up of the entrance to the bowl as they march under it to what Sidurgu can only imagine is an unholy number of stairs. They are flanked by stone-faced warriors who keep stealing surreptitious glances at well… him mostly, which is both a relief and a mystery. Certainly Rielle with her outlandish features (and the fact that she towers over the few women present) would be a better cause for staring but they’ve obviously decided to keep an eye on the one who poses the most threat. Which is a wise choice, if not totally correct.

 

Rielle’s Conjury is not to be trifled with—he’d say he had the scars to prove it but well.. That’s proof in itself really.

 

 

She’s walking sedately next to him, casting her gaze up at the immense curve above. It was by the grace of that Conjury that three young ones and their caretaker would live to see another day. That and Sidurgu’s sword, not that anyone _cared_.

 

 

They had barely gotten close enough to see that there was water under the thing before they’d heard a high, thin scream. Something that looked like a giant Topiary bush with a serrated maw was lunging at a lone shepherd while two children limped away, dragging a third between them. The shepherd was obviously trained in combat but was armed only with a broken crook, which the thing was making short work of.

 

Once he had the monster’s focus, he and the shepherd felled the beast while Rielle tended the children. It had no sooner hit the ground when they’d been surrounded by similarly clad warriors sliding from the backs of huge, fierce-looking avians. None of them looked particularly happy.

 

 

Thankfully the Shepherd’s intervention and the children’s clamoring prevented Sidurgu from having a much bigger fight on his hands. It hadn’t, however, prevented them from being ushered into an audience with their Khan—an invitation that was apparently non-negotiable.

 

 

They are led across a stone bridge, where he is once again subjected to the stares of warrior and passer-by alike. Before he can work up a proper snarl they finally come to a set of doors which, when opened, confirm his suspicions.

 

 

“Oh, can’t you just _kill us_?”

 

“- _Sid_!”

 

 

He half-heartedly dodges Rielle’s cane, which bounces harmlessly off his armor. The same armor that adds roughly fifty stone to his overall carry; not including the pack still slung over his back and his sword. Sidurgu is in good shape; they both are. But he knows even at a careful pace his legs will likely be jelly by the time they reach the top and that’s all he needs; to keel over in front of this ‘Khan’ they’re meeting with.

 

 

His only consolation is that their entourage clearly shares his enthusiasm. Or rather, lack thereof.

 

“Come.”

 

 

And so begins their trek up the gently sloping corkscrew of stairs. It’s actually more of a wide ramp with steps cut into the sides, which makes their group have to split into two lines. Thankfully the ramp is spacious and even though the smell of animal is a constant presence, they’re not wading through filth. This must be how they transport livestock. And reluctant guests. And gods-know what else.

 

 

Sidurgu valiantly makes it into open air, but he’s more than winded and it shows. A cool lick of magick flows through him before hands start tugging off his pack. Rielle is only a little breathless as she frees him from it and the spell, while not curing his wobbling muscles has rejuvenated him enough so that every breath doesn’t feel like a stab to the chest.

 

 

He arches his back and winces at the twinge of cracking scales. This does not go unnoticed.

 

 

“Are you still hurt?” Rielle asks, guilelessly. As if they weren’t surrounded by people who fed on the weak. Even if she hadn’t healed him twice in less than an hour, the girl should know better than to imply that Sidurgu is anything less than a soulless killing machine, primed and ready.

 

“If by _hurt_ you mean _sore as bloody horse-bird_ then yes, I suppose. Nothing for it though, so kindly keep your magics to yourself unless someone is bleeding, yeah?”

 

 

Rielle frowns but only nods. Internally, he sighs in relief. As far as recriminations go, that was a rather tame one coming from him. But while she can take the worst of his vitriol with nary a blink, the most mundane of gestures can make her fold like a house of cards with little to no warning. They certainly can’t afford that here.

 

After a short respite they are led into the large white castle, which is even more impressive up close. Sidurgu notes the two standards and the two colors of garb present. It means there’s at least two clans here living in relative harmony but it’s a far cry from the bustling trade hub he’d been hoping for.

 

“Halt.”

 

They stop before the innermost chamber. The bulk of their entourage gradually broke off the further into the compound they went and there are only three now, one of whom slips into the room beyond to announce their arrival. After a moment the doors are thrown wide.

 

“Enter.”

 

 

The first thing Sidurgu notices, is that the only accessible entrance to the room is now at his back. That’s not exactly a surprise given the nature of the structure but it’s certainly not in their favor. He is aware of Rielle’s subtle positioning; far enough that he has room to swing but close enough for him to take the first strike. Old habits that have yet to fail them. He can only hope the caution is unwarranted (but he’s not holding his breath either).

 

The second thing he notices is that there is two men of power in the room and, as with everyone they’ve met thus far in this gods-forsaken place, the weight of their stare rests solely on him.

 

 

The first and closest, loitering in front of one of the chamber’s large pillars is a dark-skinned Xaela whose clothing leaves very little to the imagination. The patch over his eye attests to some ancient hard-won victory, but the one that remains is currently sizing Sidurgu up in a fashion that makes his skin prickle. It takes him a moment to realize why.

 

It’s a look of pure, unadulterated _want_.

 

 

It takes everything he has not to fidget or glower or go for his sword. He’s heard women complain about being viewed as a cut of meat before but he’s never had the pleasure of that experience himself. Until now.

 

 

For the better part valor, he looks to the second and obviously the most important by the carelessness of his sprawl and his position in the chamber; a ruddy-skinned Xaela whose face is set in a permanent scowl. There’s an enormous axe embedded in stump just within reach of his fur-draped throne and the twin suns of his gaze burn with an intensity that belies his affectation of utter boredom _._

 

Thankfully his interest seems to be mostly situational.

 

 

“A Day-Walker1. How odd.” He gives Rielle a once-over as well. _Finally._ “And the girl, odder still. -Tell me Outlanders, what business have you with the Steppes and of the Oronir? Or perhaps you’ve come to offer yourself to the Brotherhood?”

 

 

He turns to his compatriot whose flash of white teeth stand out in stark relief against his dark skin. The leer does even less for Sidurgu’s mood, which has been in a steady decline since the Raen and feels very close to bottoming out.

 

 

“We’ve no notion to join anything nor business beyond passing through. We happened across your clansmen by chance while looking for a place called Reunion. -You’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

 

 

Rielle’s hisses his name but he knows how he sounds and he just doesn’t _care._ This whole trip has been one disappointment after the other and Sidurgu is done with it. He’d thought finding out about his people, his culture would mean something but so far it has just meant more hiding and more caution and in the case of the Raen; intense displeasure bordering on shame.

 

 

He doesn’t miss the way the sour-faced man twitches at his disrespect. Oh, he hopes there’s a fight at the end of it. The fire’s been building for _days_ and that axe looks like it might actually be a challenge.

 

 

“The lives you’ve saved today have granted you the benevolence of our Father, Azim. As such, I will overlook your insolence, _this time_. However, do not think to take such liberties again. - _Baatu_.”

 

 

The one who announced them straightens. “Yes, Most Radiant Brother?”

 

 

Sidurgu does not roll his eyes at the ridiculously pretentious title but it is a very near thing.

 

 

“See that these Outlanders are given a meal and a place to wash and rest. In the morning, they will be given an escort to Reunion. Whoever is chosen may consider their duties for the day dispensed.”

 

 

The warrior, Baatu, bows. “Of course, Most Radiant Magnai.”

 

He turns and motions for them to follow. Sidurgu is cautiously relieved at this. The sooner they can get to Reunion, the sooner Rielle can satisfy her curiosity and they can leave. Hopefully to a place where they don’t _stare_. He’d thought he’d seen the end of that when they left Ishgard. But no. Xaela everywhere and the slide of their gaze is a constant frisson. It isn’t bloody _fair_.

 

 

“So... That’s it then?”

 

 

Sidurgu freezes mid-stride, not realizing Rielle had chosen to remain until her seemingly innocent question rang out across the chamber. A quick glance at the two Khans shows looks of mild displeasure and surprise, but he shifts his weight into a stance just in case.

 

 

“Oh? What would you have of us, then? Songs of praise at the evening meal or perhaps your every step trailed with dance?”

 

 

Sidurgu grimaces. This will.. probably be bad. For all her admonishments, Rielle has a staggering lack of socialization that tends to rear its head at inopportune times. Like now. Thanks to a childhood spent huddled in some grotty goal and a general disregard of propriety learned at Sidurgu’s knee, she tends to be.. rather blunt. Bless her soul.

 

For the most part, Sidurgu finds this awkward facet of Rielle amusing but in this case, it is a bit of Not Good.

 

 

She frowns.

 

 

“No. But is that really the extent of the Father’s benevolence? A meal, a wash and a boot the rear in the morning?”

 

 

This makes the Most Radiant Bastard actually leave his seat to loom over Rielle (who can almost look him in the eye so it’s rather less effective than intended). Sidurgu tenses but there is a spearhead at his throat before he can even begin to move toward them. He glares at Baatu who only stares back—his hand steady.

 

 

“ _Nay_. You are untried, unproven _whelps_ and the only reason you are in my presence instead of lying broken on the ground is because of the people, _my_ people, who yet breathe for your efforts. _Do not_ mock the mercy you have been granted, nor say His name in doubt again lest you be shown darkness _eternal_.”

 

 

That metaphor is crystal clear and Sidurgu curses because _of course_ they’d get stuck with Fanatics. Malms upon malms of land crawling with all sorts and they stumble upon the Steppe’s version of Ishgard. Rielle blinks at the Khan’s sudden fervor as though it is woefully out of place. To be fair, despite the intimidating stature, it is a pale imitation of the rantings spewn by her Lady Mother and he has shown no real intent to harm.

 

She offers the Khan a conciliatory bob.

 

 

“Please, I meant no disrespect. It’s just that we’ve travelled a very long way to find this very land and the only time we spent more than one night in any given place, _this one-_ -“

 

She spears a finger out at Sidurgu who is, in fact, in possible mortal peril so it seems a bit unfair for him to be made the bad guy but _whatever_ ,

 

“-complained like a rude pig the _entire time_ and I’m so sorry but I’m at my wit’s end and I’d really just like to have a few days of peace before we go blundering forth into another spot of trouble.”

 

 

The Leering One starts to laugh and he can feel his frown deepen to the point of his face possibly breaking in half from the force of it. Most Radiant Bastard is getting the full effect of Rielle’s big, dewy eyes which have sent more men gibbering than Sidurgu’s own sword. The Khan is not unaffected.

 

 

He studies her with a new intent that raises his hackles instantly. It’s the only excuse for what he does next.

 

 

“Rielle. Is this the high-born part of you saying you don’t want to leave the big, pretty castle?”

 

 

Whatever spell was weaving between the two is halted by the apparent _last straw_ of Rielle’s waning patience breaking and burning to ash. Suddenly, the spear at his throat is a comfort because Baatu has just volunteered to become Sidurgu’s meat shield if Rielle decides that everything should die today.

 

 

Her noble blood is more of a sore subject than the heretical blood of her father that gave her a childhood of suffering. Sidurgu usually treads carefully but it was weathering her ire or weathering the Khan’s newfound interest and he’s not quite ready to let go of her virtue just yet. Or ever.

 

 

“This is me, not stoning you unconscious because I don’t want risk hurting people we just met. -I cannot believe you right now. I just.. -you are _impossible_.”

 

 

He rolls his eyes this time because its Rielle and he’s _safe_. She turns back to the Khan, who is looking at her with a sort of wary respect that likely comes from living with hot-blooded warrior women. Whatever he was looking for seems to remain unfound. Lucky him.

 

 

“Would it be too much to ask to have one night for each life spared? We won’t take advantage of your hospitality. We can work.”

 

 

He groans at this, but it seemed to be the magic word because Baatu is waved off and the Khan once again takes his seat. He looks at them both with consideration, his air almost smug.

 

 

“Very well. If you are willing to work for your bread then you may have your extended stay. For tonight however, you have nothing to give the Oronir or our Buduga brothers. Rest well, for in the morning I will have tasks for you. - _Baatu_.”

 

He motions for the warrior to resume his duty and this time Rielle follows after another bob and a soft ‘Thank you’. Sidurgu finally let’s himself breathe as they leave the chamber, the itch of their stares overwhelmed by his relief.

 

He’s not best pleased by Rielle’s bartering but they could certainly do worse than a well-fortified castle as far as accommodations went. And Sidurgu is not scared of a little physical labor. His master had him mucking out chocobo stalls as part of his _training_. Certainly nothing these people did would prove too difficult for them to manage.

 

 

Right?

 

 

1Magnai is making an assumption based on Sidurgu’s coloring. Specifically that he is of the Kagon tribe, who worship N’haama and do not venture out into the light of day, making them all extremely pale despite living in a desert.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Please enjoy your wet lizards. :D

Magnai doesn’t quite know what to make of these Outlanders.

 

The girl, Rielle, works hard without complaint, even when it is evident that it’s work no one else wants to do. She has a single-minded focus when it comes to tasks and her knowledge of healing arts makes her a very useful addition to their ranks. It is the third day of their agreed-upon timetable and he has half a mind to graciously extend that time. Such dedication is rare, even among his own. It would be a shame to lose it to some other, less worthy tribe.

 

 

Her companion however, is another story.

 

 

The man, Sidurgu, also works hard (though rarely quietly) and while he manages to complete his tasks it’s obvious his talents lie in soldiering—though his cause seems to be rather elusive. The brother who publicly proclaimed him naught but a sell-sword paid for the slight by virtue of a yurt strut. Magnai was mildly impressed how quickly his clansmen had been laid out though he conceded that it was a very lucky thing the weapon had been a piece of wood and not the great chunk of metal the other called a sword.

 

 

Daidukul’s interest is well met, it seems.

 

 

He wishes the Khan luck. So far the outlander has managed to endear himself to Cook, the warrior Jelme, and most of the maiden sisters; though the latter is due to the fact that what they wear under their armor in Ishgard is barely decent enough for a Buduga. -And the girl of course, though he antagonizes her _endlessly_.

 

 

The rest tend to avoid him unless involved in his tasks and wisely so. He can’t identify it but there’s… something about the other man that warrants caution. Magnai suspects he might be some manner of assassin but while it would explain the faint aura of _danger_ , it certainly doesn’t explain his personal mission to improve Cook’s status. Or his unwillingness to undertake the Trials of Bardam, because it would end with, quote: ‘ _the beating of some hapless animal that’s likely just defending its nest_.’

 

 

It could also be that Sidurgu is simply a murderer who occasionally turns his proclivities into a profit. However, his very high standards as to who ought to receive the fruits of his labor makes that idea rather far-fetched. The brother who he struck for insult was able to return to his duties upon awakening. While it could just be caution for the sake of his charge, Magnai is quite sure it was more that the other warrior wasn’t _worth the time_.

 

 

It has been ages since he has been faced with such a conundrum. The girl is less conspicuous in her oddities than the one who wears their skin but who is within, something vastly different.

 

 

And he knows if he extends his invitation to the girl it will by default include the other.

 

 

He pauses before the entrance to the baths. It is widely known that the Khan takes his bath late in the evening. It is a courtesy he extends to his Brothers and Sisters so that they may ease their burdens without worry or censure. It also ensures privacy, though he has little care for that.

 

 

As he hears the tell-tale sound of washing, he realizes privacy is likely why the Outlander has chosen this time for his own bath. _Again_. He frowns at the door.

 

 

The first night he was gracious. Despite the man’s obvious scorn, he had risked his life in defense of the Oronir and so, when he’d realized who it was making use of the baths during his usual time, he’d had gone back to his rooms to wait. On the second night, Magnai’s own duties kept him late and his bath was taken in solitude as per usual. This time, however…

 

 

He strides through the door. He is Oronir, of the _Sun,_ and he will not be—

 

 

There is an awkward pause while his mind scrambles to process what it is seeing. It is the outlander Sidurgu as expected, but along with his striking color and warrior body there is something unexpected. Upon his back there is an affliction. One he has only ever seen on the dead or the dying and even then, none so bad as this.

 

 

The last time had been on the body of a Dotharl who had encroached upon their lands. It is a mark of the Forbidden Ones. The Exiled.

 

 

To his credit, the other man slowly resumes his washing. As if there is no sudden, unseen threat at his back. His tone, when he speaks, is mild and unassuming but Magnai knows the situation balances on a thread.

 

 

“You know, being the only of our kind in a place like Ishgard well… I got used to the staring. And yet..” He drops his cloth into the bucket with a splash. “Here I am in a land where everyone is like me and all anyone does is _stare_. I am bloody _sick of it_.”

 

 

Magnai stops himself from telling the man that there is no one on the Steppes like him and instead asks: “Why do you not allow the girl to attend you?”

 

 

This makes the white head jerk around. The Khan has recovered from his shock and moves to a stool to begin his own wash. He keeps a careful eye on the other however, and does not miss his sneer.

 

“Not that it’s any of your _business_ , but Rielle was a child when I found her. That mess you saw is not something I would inflict on one so young. Or anyone.” He turns back around almost sullenly. “As bad as it probably looks, it doesn’t even hurt really. Just a twinge now and then.”

 

 

Magnai hums in assent as he begins to wash himself. Hears what the other is not saying.

 

_I was alone. An outsider. I showed my back to no one._

There’s a large slosh as Sidurgu upends the bucket over his head. Magnai tries not to think about how fetching he looks with his hair curled around his face, the spines on his neck in sharp relief.

 

 

“Look, I can tell you want to use the facilities, so I’ll go—”

 

 

“No.”

 

 

The other man had already begun to rise. The Khan did not pause in his washing, though he could tell the other had stopped his flight, hands still on the knot at his waist.

 

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

 

He sighs as he works at the day’s kohl on his face. There is no way that he will be able to get through the morrow knowing what the other is toiling under. He will see every wince, every crick, every _twinge_ and know just how profound that suffering is. He doesn’t know if he can make the outlander understand. That even as the Oronir have many enemies; none would he allow to remain so stricken.

 

 

He tries to imagine the Dotharl Khantun, her glossy black scales replaced with white, crusted plates and has to swallow back his bile.

 

 

“Don’t leave. Your back needs attention. If you will not allow the girl to do it, then I will assist you. Go soak.”

 

 

Small wonder that Sidurgu likes that suggestion _not at all_.

 

“The _Hell I will_. I don’t know where you get off thinking this is your problem but it certainly isn’t and I’ll thank you to—“

 

 

The man makes a choked noise as Magnai, clearly unmoved, uses his own bucket to rinse away the rest of the day’s filth. He gives his mane a shake and stands. The outlander jolts suddenly and he realizes that for one so opposed to staring, he had been doing a bit of his own just then.

 

He does not smirk but it is a very near thing.

 

 

“This is not a negotiation. You obviously do not understand what the severity of your affliction means here. Untended molt is a mark of exile. Usually due to some heinous crime against the tribe. While I understand your circumstances are unique, another Xaela will not know the difference and will likely view you as a criminal.”

 

Sidurgu’s already unhappy expression slides into a frown. Good.

 

 

“As you refuse to take the Trial, you have no status among the people of the Steppe. Those who do not kill you for simply being a Foreigner will not hesitate once they learn about the mark you bear. Your caution will only work for so long before someone finds out. Where do you think that will leave the girl?”

 

 

The Khan knows this is his weakness. It had been fairly obvious early on, though the true nature of their bond had been a mystery until now. Even so, it is a calculated gamble.

 

 

Thankfully, after a few moments of pondering he yields. Unsurprisingly with ill-grace.

 

 

 _“Fine._ If it’s some bleeding _taboo_ that I can’t reach the small of my back then we’d best take care of it. Wouldn’t want to get _murdered_ in my sleep.”

 

 

Normally he would have confronted the insinuation that his people would do such a thing (out of turn anyway) but the sight of the man’s ruin as he stomped off to the baths stays his tongue. Though fully grown, Sidurgu is so very very _young 2 _and being isolated for so long has done him no favors.

 

 

He walks back to the anteroom where the various linens and bath items are. Thankfully it’s spring, when molt begins for many and the shelves are well stocked with what he will need so he will not have to call anyone. While the outlander has yielded to logic, the presence of another would likely cause an outburst and honestly, he’s _tired_.

 

In a handful of hours it will be time for him to wake, and he knows working on the other’s affliction will take most of that. His consolation is that Sidurgu will similarly not be allowed to shirk his chores. Not even for this.

 

He takes a fortifying breath before entering the baths. It has been a long time since he has attended anyone and while he will need all the patience afforded him by the Father for _this one_ , there is a small measure of comfort in it as well.

 

 

A quiet indulgence he means to savor.

 

 

*

 

 

“I was under the impression this was supposed to hurt.”

 

 

Sidurgu is not one for small talk normally, but the silence is awkward and oppressive, even if it’s occasionally broken by the sound of water and the other man’s breathing.

 

So far, the most he’s felt is insistent tugging as the Khan uses a very thin bone to get between the layers of softened scales and peel them away in large swaths; like a sort of gross translucent paper. The tugging isn’t exactly pleasant but he can’t really qualify it as painful—though he could certainly do without being, for all practical purposes, in the Most Radiant Bastard’s _lap_.

 

 

There’s another tug and a quiet grunt behind him as another layer is removed.

 

 

“It will hurt when I am closer to the new skin. -It has been a long time since this was done for you.”

 

 

It’s a statement but Sidurgu hears the question anyway. Since the man is helping him with nothing to gain (at least none that he can figure), he sees no harm in answering.

 

 

“Not since my parents really. A few others tried but… there wasn’t a lot of people I could trust and the ones I could had no idea what they were doing. After a time, I just decided to live with it. Better that way, really.”

 

 

Behind him there is a non-committal hum. When it becomes obvious a response is not forthcoming, he tries to fill the void once more.

 

 

“I didn’t think about it again until we met the Raen. Did you know they’ve built a trade around it? Little good it did me, of course. But still, I was surprised how open they were.”

 

 

At this, the movement at his back stops.

 

“You showed this to a _Raen_? At an onsen?”

 

 

He frowns. That definitely sounds like disapproval. On one hand Sidurgu gets it; he has no love for their white-scaled brethren either. However, it’s not like he knew that at the beginning. They were the first people he’d met that were like him. He’d no idea what to expect.

 

 

“What of it? Obviously the mess back there doesn’t mean the same to them as it does to you, though in the end it didn’t even matter. They wouldn’t do as I asked and we left soon after."

 

 

Slowly the tugging resumes as the other takes up his work.

 

 

“While the Raen may not have reacted as a Xaela would, the meaning of ‘the mess’ as you call it remains the same. I suppose you have their pacific nature to thank for the fact that you remain unscathed but it is likely a good thing that you left when you did.”

 

 

Sidurgu doesn’t like the implication that they barely escaped an incident by sheer luck. He mulls over that a bit before the Khan poses his own question.

 

 

“What did you ask of them that they refused you?”

 

 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and answers absently.

 

 

“Basically to do what you’re doing only in less time. I knew we weren’t going to be there long and I didn’t want Rielle to be suspicious. But they went on an on about how it would _hurt_ or how I’d be _injured_ and finally I had it out with the attendant. Got thrown out for the trouble, which by then suited me just _fine_.”

 

 

A few more moments of silence go by. Sidurgu is starting to feel the weight of the day. The warmth of the bath has soaked into his bones and the intermittent tugs are starting to feel further and further away.

 

 

When the Khan speaks again, he jolts awake; nearly on the cusp of sleep.

 

 

“I do not agree with the Raen on principle but in this matter they were correct to refuse you. To injure someone whom you are attending, even a stranger in a public bath, is perhaps the worst taboo of all. For Xaela, if you are called to Attend it is considered an honor from the person who asks it of you as it involves a great deal of trust. To willfully harm someone who has given you that trust is despicable. No tribe among the steppes would allow such a person to remain in their ranks—perhaps even to live, depending on the circumstances.”

 

 

Sidurgu blinks. He’s a little muzzy but he can tell the other has stopped what he’s doing.

 

“While our laws may differ, your Attendant acted with honor. In that at least, we are the same.”

 

 

The other man stretches before rising from the water, unabashedly nude. Sidurgu is too tired to for propriety and watches as he gathers up the tools and oil and the pile of what was presumably his back (ew).

 

 

“We are done for now. The dawn grows near and we both need what rest we may have until it breaks. -Come.”

 

 

Sidurgu can’t tell if his back feels any different but judging by the pile, significant progress was made. He wants to say something to the other man, thanks perhaps. He might have been bullied into it but the Khan had done all the work and hadn’t complained or belittled his situation. Had even explained the reason for his intervention.

 

 

It was more kindness than he had ever expected from this place, even if it was the practical sort.

 

 

But the other man has already left. Sidurgu figures he’ll thank him tomorrow, when it’s all said and done. It’ll be their last day. They saved four lives and unless Rielle tries to negotiate for more time, they’ll be gone when the fifth day breaks. Never to set foot here again, most like.

 

 

That bothers him more than it would have a few days ago. He tries not to think about why.

 

 

Sidurgu rises from the water, unsteady. Belatedly he stretches and after finding his towel, wobbles off in search of his clothes. Laundry is on a rotating schedule he hasn’t quite learned yet (because they don’t trust him with essential things and wisely so). Next to his careless pile, a robe has been laid out for him. There’s only one person who could have left it. He looks at it for a moment, thoughtfully.

 

 

Perhaps if Rielle does not ask for more time, then Sidurgu will. After all, who knows what other potential mishaps lurk between here and Reunion? A few more days with the Oronir and their knowledge of the steppe certainly won’t hurt. Best to be prepared, and all that.

 

 

Someday he might even remember to ask where in the Hell it _is_.

 

 

2I don’t own the lore books but I am making the assumption, based on his words, deeds and name that Magnai is much much older than he looks. Like ancient. Which is why everyone is young to him. Even adult Sidurgu.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buduga slice of life, featuring Rielle, a celebrity walk-on and Sidurgu's Very Bad Idea. (And Magnai is Magnai).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is a little weird, I apologize. Especially the end. I'm setting stuff up for future... stuff and the chapter was done but didn't want to wrap up. Please enjoy! T-T

They were granted a month’s extension when Rielle met with the Khans to barter for more time. The Most Radiant Brother had looked especially pleased with himself when he’d given the proclamation, as though bestowing a blessing. The Budugan Khan had merely rolled his eye in amusement.

 

 

Rielle rather likes him. For all that he looks every inch the fearsome warrior, he is often more approachable than the Oroniri Khan and his tribe is structured much like the Priesthood. Once she learned that they had no real aversion to women beyond rather analogous religious tenets, interacting with them became quite natural. With her lifetime of experience with the more tetchy aspects of the clergy, it was like slipping into a comfortable old gown.

 

 

A bit of home she could enjoy, without the lingering shadow of what once was.

 

 

The Buduga seemed to be impressed by her propriety. At least, she assumes so as her chores have shifted to their end more often than not. It’s not hard to see why. While there is no such thing as ‘women’s work’ among them, most able-bodied men are expected to make the most of their strength. The more mundane tasks fell to the old or infirm but barring that it was a scheduled rotation.

 

 

She pauses at the Khan’s yurt. While he likely could find rooms within the great white fort (as was his due), Daidukul instead choses to live among his brethren. His yurt is nearly indistinguishable among the rest, save for a string of metal chimes at his door, nearly brown with age.

 

 

Her arms full of the Khan’s washing, she reaches out to flick at the thin metal bars only to rear back when the flap opens abruptly.

 

 

Out steps a handsome if bedraggled hyur, who thankfully stops before he can knock her into the baskets of cleaning she’s brought.

 

 

“Oh! Forgive me! I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here.”

 

 

He offers her a steadying arm as she regains her footing. She takes a moment to get a better look at him. He has very long, dark hair with a light dusting of beard. Clear blue eyes set in a kind face, who is even now giving her a warm smile as she receives a similar look-over. One very notable detail catches her eye.

 

 

The man is positively _swimming_ in the robe he’s in. It hangs off of him almost comically, as if he were a child playing dress up. He notices the scrutiny and attempts to shore up the fabric a bit with the sash. It’s a largely fruitless endeavor.

 

 

It’s obvious they are Daidukul’s clothes. Rielle is aware of how the Buduga sometimes maintain their ranks. She’s heard many stories bandied across Oronir cookfires and work circles, each more bawdy than the next. And while he doesn’t look to be in any visible distress, she feels like she should make the offer. Just in case.

 

 

“I can’t do anything at the moment but later I might be able to scrape together a diversion if you’re planning to run. Will you be needing one, you think?”

 

 

He cocks his head to the side; as if he doesn’t quite understand the words coming out of her mouth though they spoke perfectly only a short time ago. After a moment the meaning becomes clear and his eyes widen before he throws his head back and laughs; clutching at his sides as he shakes with mirth.

 

 

This of course, attracts the attention of the tent’s true occupant.

 

 

Daidukul emerges, for once draped in a proper garment instead of proudly bared in his usual fashion. When he sees the two of them, he merely smirks and takes a draw from the long, thin pipe he has.

 

 

“I see you’ve met one of our new guests.” He says to the man as he holds the flap open for her. “Just set them inside. I’ll see to the rest.”

 

 

She does as bade, setting two baskets just inside the opening, respectful of the Khan’s space. There’s no new cleaning to pick up, though she suspects that will change if the mess of his bed is any indication. When she emerges, the other man is wiping tears from his eyes with an amused sigh.

 

 

“It seems your guests have been shown the Sun’s hospitality.” He turns to her with a raised brow. “And how do you find it, miss?”

 

 

She looks to her sled, still mostly full of baskets. The man is obviously exactly where he wants to be and while the Most Radiant Brother truly is a merciless task master, he is also a punctual one. The company has been pleasant enough, but she’s only just started. Small talk will have to wait.

 

 

“Usually by asking. -It was nice to meet you but I have to go now.”

 

 

She gives him a polite bow, ignoring his slightly bewildered expression and Daidukul’s bark of laughter. She moves to the sled and taps the ancient mare tied to it, who obediently plods towards the next destination—these rounds a familiar trek. She’s reached the next grouping of yurts when Daidukul’s guest comes trotting towards her, looking chagrined.

 

She’s honestly surprised he’s kept the robe on during all that, but he seems to at least be wearing a set of loose trousers that are more to his size. He summons up a smile for her. It seems genuine enough.

 

 

“Ah, sorry about my impertinence before. I’ve been told that I am to help you with your deliveries. –If you’ll have me, of course.”

 

 

She pretends to think about it. Due to her height, she tends to get the more laborious of the women’s chores. Laundry, after all, is normally a three-person affair; two at the least. But as she is primarily tasked with the Buduga (and as tall as some of them), she largely receives no other help save for the Brothers themselves, who are happy to assist for the most part.

 

Still, there’s no way she’s saying ‘no’ to free labor; even if its awkward and likely to trip over its own hem. She nods her assent.

 

 

“Alright. Help me with these, then.”

 

 

He gives her another smile and bends to do just that. He seems to know his way around the Budugan part of the Throne which is helpful because she hasn’t quite gotten everyone memorized. She makes a note to keep an ear out for gossip. Surely she’ll know who the man is before sundown3.

 

There’s a ‘whump’ and a muttered curse that leads to the contents of at least one basket strewn across the grass. Thankfully the recipient of the washing has come out and is helping the poor man. He wears a knowing smirk.

 

 

At the very least, she’ll have some gossip of her own this time.

 

 

*

 

 

Sidurgu grunted as the squirming, squawking, _snapping_ bundle in his arms did it’s very best to shake itself out of his hold, even though it was likely in considerable pain.

 

 

He’d thought long and hard what to do about their situation. About their status; or rather, lack thereof. The Most Radiant Bastard was a royal pain in the ass, but his concern over their tenuous position was genuine and he’d be a fool not to give it credence. But since he had no intention putting he and Rielle through a gauntlet of untold dangers, he’d had to get… creative.

 

 

The creature in his arms gave a plaintive cry. He hated having to carry the thing like this with its wing broken but he had little choice unless he wanted his hand snapped off at the wrist.

 

 

Once Sidurgu learned that the Yol itself was considered undeniable proof of conquering the Mettle, he’d asked around. Apparently they nested along the cliffs to the east and not just deep in the mountains where the trials lay. Having worked with willful-minded birds in his youth, he decided that taming one the traditional way would serve his purpose. Especially after he’d learned that possession of a tamed Yol would not be questioned; the Oronir and Buduga would know the truth of course but it would be accepted by the other tribes and allow for safer travel. -Assuming they ever got around to it.

 

 

He’d killed and butchered two rat-bears (it had taken an age to find out what exactly a Gulo Gulo was), which was said to be the bird’s favorite prey. Taming beasts was easy if you took care of their immediate needs—which was always food, and beasts of the wild were the most opportunistic. All he had to do was lay out food close to the nesting grounds once a day until one of them noticed then lure it further and further out.

 

 

Sidurgu had specifically asked for the task of procuring meat for the clan Yols for this very purpose. But before he could even begin to scope out a spot close enough to bait yet far enough not to be swarmed by the hovering flock, he’d heard the shrill, whistling cries and had gone to investigate.

 

 

At the base of the cliffs, a large puffy chick was bouncing rather pathetically, it’s wing obviously damaged in the fall. The adults were taking turns swooping down to its level; at first he’d thought it was in distress but as the chick fell over itself avoiding their snapping beaks he realized they were basically trying to eat it.

 

 

Well that wouldn’t do _at all_.

 

 

Taking on a group of angry, pecking chocobos was one thing. Taking on a group of large, demonic looking birds-of-prey who apparently had no qualms with eating their own young was another. Thankfully he was armed with the cleaned Gulo Gulo carcasses, which he quickly sacrificed to the cause. Even so, he barely made it out with himself and the chick intact; and only because the silly thing fell when it tried to run.

 

 

The Khan wouldn’t be best pleased by his return, with no meat save for the pitiful chirping bit of fluff he carried but there was nothing for it now. The clan Yols did their own hunting anyway. The meat was for training or treats and once he had Rielle see to the poor thing, he’d go out for more—mostly for the chick but also for his daily quota.

 

 

He tightens his arm around his squirming charge once more and hisses when it tries to get its beak on him again. Sidurgu reminds himself that this is a boon. A hatchling is much easier to domesticate than an adult. Faster too.

 

 

He just needs to get it back to the Throne. Hopefully with all his limbs intact.

 

 

*

 

 

“Brother Magnai…”

 

 

He looked up from his contemplations. While he received multiple progress reports throughout the day, he was largely left to his own devices in between. Sometimes he took the time to train or assist with various mundane tasks, but today was a day for reflection. His mind was heavy and he needed to sort out some things, most of which were tied to their newest additions.

 

 

“Yes. What is it?”

 

 

The warrior who addressed him looked a bit dazed, so he would forgive the lack of proper title. However the cause had best be a good one..

 

 

“I’m not… I don’t… -I think you should come see this. Sir.”

 

 

He frowned at the Brother, who noticed his ire and bowed low in acquiescence. He didn’t bother asking any questions because of course it was Sidurgu having done something dangerous or idiotic. _Again_. He had hoped granting him the duty of slaying fearsome beasts far from any of the other tribes would effectively curb this behavior but as he steps upon the grass of the courtyard, it becomes apparent that this has not deterred the man _at all_.

 

 

He is bellowing for the girl and the collective brethren are giving him a wide berth due to the fact that he has what appears to be a shrieking, snapping Yol chick under his arm.

 

 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn’t consider himself prone to acts of violence, but the urge to grab the other man and _shake_ is so powerful that his hands clench with it. He glances up at the aviary, to see if the screeching cries have caused enough commotion for the other birds to take notice. None are circling. Yet.

 

 

Magnai reaches Sidurgu just as the girl does. She demonstrates an even head in a crisis (obviously well-learned from prolonged exposure to her companion’s antics) and wastes no time putting the poor thing to sleep. Once it’s on the ground he can see that the armor on Sidurgu’s arm and gauntlet has taken a beating but the idiot merely rolls his shoulder a few times before crouching to watch Rielle tend to the injured wing.

 

 

“What… in the nine _Hells_ do you think you’re doing bringing that thing here? Are you trying to cause a frenzy? -Do I even want to know how you stole it?”

 

 

Sidurgu _rolls his eyes_ at the questioning and it takes everything he has not to test his gauntlet against his jaw.

 

 

“Saved it, you mean. -Look I was out at the cliffs trying to bait one and saw the little bugger almost get eaten by what was likely a group of it’s relatives.” At this he gives the Most Radiant Brother a poignant look. “And before you even start, you’ve been harping on and on about the Trials—if the whole point is to tame a Yol then _fine_. I’ve got one right here. -We tame things a bit differently in Ishgard, but the result will be the same.”

 

 

The Most Radiant Brother smears a hand over his face, massaging the growing pressure building behind his eyes that he’s sure hadn’t been there minutes earlier.

 

 

“I suppose you think you’re clever, having the proof without doing the deed. For all that I have explained it to you, again you _miss the point_ —"

 

 

Rielle glances up, her work nearly done.

 

“I swear if you both start, I will put you down just like this one.”

 

 

The snap of Sidurgu’s mouth shutting is audible; his is less so. While he has no real fear of the girl, he knows she has no fear of him either and even less of a care for his station. Normally he’d find that an attractive quality, but Ishardian maidens are apparently forged of cold steel and even colder affections. He doesn’t think he’s seen her smile once in their relatively short acquaintance.

 

 

A few minutes of awkward silence pass as she examines the wing—stretching it out and making sure the delicate bones are set and whole. She folds it gently to the sleeping chick’s side.

 

 

“It’s done.” She looks to Sidurgu. “What are you going to do with it?”

 

 

The man in question hums. Magnai would also like to know the answer so he waits until he realizes Sidurgu is looking at him in consideration.

 

 

“ _Nay._ This is _your_ mess. I want no part—’

 

 

“-What about those cages in the main room? You had that man trussed up in one yesterday. That’ll work for a couple of days until I have it toddling after me good and proper.”

 

 

Rielle had been paying him little mind until _that_ comment. With her tasks largely held by the Buduga, she has no doubt ran across their ‘honorary’ brother. He wonders how long it will be _this time_ before the man’s faithful shinobi inevitably turns up to extricate him. Magnai considers arranging it so that Sidurgu is somehow put in her path. It would be worth the trouble just to see how he faired against a trained assassin.

 

The girl’s normally limpid stare becomes accusing.

 

“That nice man that Daidukul is hosting. You had him in a _cage_?”

 

 

 _Hosting_. The space behind his eyes gives a throb. He’s… He’s had just about enough of this. He is Khan. Most Radiant. He is above such petty inquisition and _furthermore_ , he had no hand in the princeling’s incarceration. Hasn’t since he stared down the length of that Raen woman’s blade the night after the Buduga had whisked him right out the palace. He’d washed his hands of it then. As did she of him. _Thankfully_.

 

 

He stands, rising to his full height.

 

“ _Daidukul_ had him in a cage. If you’ve any objections to the treatment, you can take it up with _him_ ; though its largely for show these days. -Seeing as he now resides in Daidukul’s _own yurt_ , his lodgings are obviously much improved.”

 

 

Rielle is mollified by this. She stands, brushing grass from her coat, and gives Sidurgu a _look_ (that is clearly some manner of cease and desist) before wandering back to her duties. Now that the hovering threat of her magic is gone, he turns a glare on Sidurgu, who is looking amused as he carefully gathers up the sleeping chick. He cannot fathom _why_.

 

 

“As for _you_ , make use of the gaol as you will, but know this: if so much as a _peep_ disturbs my rest, I will ensure it is never disturbed again. By _either_ of you.”

 

 

Sidurgu huffs as he takes care not to hurt (and thus wake) his sleeping charge on the wicked tines of his armor.

 

“Yes, yes. And I suppose if _you’re_ quiet enough, you won’t have to deal with it disturbing whatever it is you do during the day.” He carefully steps towards the inner walls, so as not to jostle his burden. “There’s still meat to get and even less time to get it before dusk, so the sooner you lead the way the sooner I can secure that uninterrupted beauty sleep. -Such as it is.”

 

 

Mood already fouled, he turns, snarling; about to give the other man a very large piece of his mind—until the bundle in his arms wiggles, the impressive if not fully developed beak snapping sluggishly a few times before settling back into stupor.

 

 

The look Sidurgu levels at him over the slumbering body is like a challenge.

 

 

With a slow, controlled exhale the turns to make his way back from whence he came; Sidurgu falling in step behind him. He did not become the man he is today by fighting the small battles. Life on the steppes was an ongoing conflict that required constant direction. As much as he’d like to swat the Outlander with the flat of his axe, the situation is contained. -Or it will be, in any case. The cages are a small price to pay for his lack of involvement.

 

 

When the time comes, his rest is not disturbed by the chick, but by the reports that Sidurgu is, for reasons only he can know, hunkered down in the cage with it. He stays there until dawn.

 

 

 

Magnai barely gets any sleep at all.

 

 

 

3Yes, it’s Hien.


End file.
